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<title>𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 by Adrenalineshots, sonshineandshowers, TheFibreWitch</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506063">𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots'>Adrenalineshots</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers'>sonshineandshowers</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch'>TheFibreWitch</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡 [53]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prodigal Son (TV 2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Case Fic, Digital Art, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hallucinations, Harassment, Health Emergency, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Mental Health Issues, Metafiction, Murder Mystery, Nightmares, Recovery, Surrealism, Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Video, a lot of really strange stuff that happens in altered states of consciousness, anxiousness, canon minor character death, reader-driven</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:28:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26506063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adrenalineshots/pseuds/Adrenalineshots, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFibreWitch/pseuds/TheFibreWitch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Selecting 𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 from the bookshelf, Malcolm travels through his own mind.</p><p>Read this story at: <a href="https://www.thedominostory.com/#happy-endings">https://www.thedominostory.com/#happy-endings</a></p><p>This book is one of three possible endings of the Domino series. If you are not ready to read an ending, please choose another book from the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570">Bookshelf</a>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gil Arroyo/Jackie Arroyo, Gil Arroyo/Jessica Whitly</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡 [53]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1926451</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Domino 🁡, Prodigal Son Big Bang 2020 - Saturday Posts</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>𝐃𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨 🁡 𝐻𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts">Jameena</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/gifts">MissScorp</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/gifts">ProcrastinatingSab</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/685441">Happy Endings</a> by Margaret Atwood.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <h4>
  <b>This is one of three possible endings. If you are not ready to read an ending, please turn back now. :)</b>
</h4><p>This book is one part of the Domino series. If you have not yet read the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64577434#workskin">Preface</a> or <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588537#workskin">Introduction</a>, please head there first.</p><p>Betaed by the wonderful <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/">Jameena</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissScorp/">MissScorp</a>, and <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinatingSab/">ProcrastinatingSab</a>.</p><p>Credit to the creators and their works that inspired and were referenced in this work:<br/><b>— Inspiration: </b><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Happy_Endings_(short_story)">Happy Endings</a> - Margaret Atwood<br/><b>— Cover Song: </b><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fJ9rUzIMcZQ">Bohemian Rhapsody</a> - Queen</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <table>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><a href="https://www.thedominostory.com/images/full/happy-endings.jpg"></a></td>
<td><iframe></iframe></td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table><p>If you want a happy ending, try this book. Want something else? Try the next book. Or the next.</p><p>There’s only one authentic ending. It might not be the happiest. It’s the in-between that matters, and that’s already passed. Books tipping along the shelf like dominoes, past, present, fiction, what could have been, what may be all falling, distorted into one hellish, unending movie.</p><p>Is anything real? Malcolm’s brain flips through moment after moment, a continual slideshow with a problem — he’s not entirely sure which events may have happened and which events rose from the ether like a swamp monster determined to mire everything with sludge. He’s been in excruciating pain before and experienced debilitating hallucinations, but this toil in his head feels different, moving on before he can even consider the stills in front of him. Unable to keep a hold on anything, he’s taunted with the worst aspects of his mind, his thoughts twisted until he can’t recognize any aspect of his existence.</p><p>“Get away from me!” rips from his throat, needing some relief from the acute pain of being unable to identify his own experiences. For something so fleeting, it sure packs a punch.</p><p>“Kid? Kid?” a voice breaks through, another to add to the cacophony on the reel.</p><p>“Leave me <em>alone</em>,” he begs, curling in on himself as a protective barrier to deflect the words. The movements are achy, stretching his muscles in ways that seem foreign.</p><p>The credits roll, and the movie begins. Is anything real? … “Leave me <em>alone</em>.” Again. Is anything real? … “Leave me <em>alone</em>.”</p><p>“Kid?” the voice repeats, clearly not understanding the definition of alone. “You’re in the hospital.”</p><p>Or the sewer, or his childhood bedroom, or a stakeout, or his worst moments, or — his brain can’t quite decide where he is or what the fuck is wrong with him, thoughts disappearing as fast as they come to him. He needs Jackie, he needs Gil —</p><p>Jackie’s dead. One small bit of awareness that’s clear — he standing at Gil’s side through every agonizing aspect of her funeral service, barely able to keep the man upright long enough to escape to the comfort of the Le Mans. Driving Gil home afterward in the new world of without her, one of the few times he ever got to drive Gil’s precious car. Curling his fingers into a fist to try to stop his tremor, something pinches. He has an IV.</p><p>There’s scratchy texture under his fingers that’s nowhere close to his thread count at home. A smell that reeks of Dr. Whitly after a late night of work that sends his heart racing. Harsh beeping starts, and he slams his hands over his ears as if the high decibel won’t come piercing through. His air must disappear with the motion, as each breath gets more difficult, coming in, coming in, coming in and never quite filling him up enough. Lungs both ready to explode and not pulling in enough air, he starts to feel lightheaded.</p><p>Again. <em>Again</em>. Is anything real? … Where is he? Why is he fighting for every gasp of breath? <em>Again</em>. Is anything real? … Where is he? Why is he fighting? Why? W—</p><p>At some point, it all gets to be too much, and he forgets about breathing entirely. His air comes of its own accord, in and out, more steadily. His brain is full of cottony fuzz where thoughts should be, attempting to cushion him in a place that brings so much pain.</p><p>“Kid?” a voice says. “It’s just Gil.” A hand tentatively touches the back of his neck, a soft brush prepared for a startle, then the full hand, callouses pressing in and massaging. There isn’t beeping anymore — things around him are much quieter.</p><p>“No — Gil’s home. Ground yourself,” he says to himself, fingernails digging into his palms.</p><p>“I’m here. I’m real,” the voice says next to his head. “If you’re not ready to open your eyes yet, feel my hand, or my hair, or my sweater, or smell my aftershave.” All the while, the hand keeps massaging. Then the voice directs away from him, “I’ve got him — you really don’t need to — “</p><p>Malcolm has no interest in smelling anything, the scent of his father still too prevalent even though his brain works to ignore it. His hands curled into themselves as well as tight around his body, he’s not particularly interested in lowering his defenses, either.</p><p>“I can wait until you’re ready. As long as you need.”</p><p><em>Again</em>. Is anything real? … What’s happening? <em>Again</em>. 𝐼s̷ ̷a̷n̷y̷t̷h̷i̷n̷g̷ ̷r̷e̷a̷l̷?̷  ... ⸮ǫᴎiᴎɘqqɒʜ ꙅ'ƚɒʜW</p><p>Masked eyes, staring back at him with the deepest concern he’s ever seen, reflecting his own unease.</p><p>“H-how did I get here? I don’t know how I got here.” Malcolm slowly confirms he might indeed be in a hospital, plopped in the middle of an uncomfortable bed that leaves him with one thought — run. AMA as fast as possible. Go home.</p><p>“You’re in the hospital. Ambulance brought you. You were out cold at a scene — we found you with a book in your hands. Things were — “ The voice pauses, taking a shaky breath. “Serious. Doc’s been keeping an eye on you though, and you’ve been doing much better.”</p><p>Malcolm unfurls one hand and reaches toward the voice. “Can you — “ Fingers fold around his hand and give it a squeeze. “Gil?”</p><p>“It’s me, kid.”</p><p>Much as he realizes that the voice talking to him is his friend, the man who would do <em>anything</em> for him, he’s still incredibly disoriented. “I’m not ready.”</p><p>“That’s okay.”</p><p><em>Again</em>. Is anything real? … “I’m not ready.” <em>Again</em>. Is anything real? … " Ｉ ＇ ｍ　 ｎ ｏ ｔ　ｒ ｅ ａ ｄ ｙ ．"</p><p>Malcolm shakes in his tight bundle, a combination of freezing and scared of what’s happening. “Could he have a few more blankets?” Gil asks away from him. “I want him to be comfortable.”</p><p>It’s a few minutes, but more weight gets pulled over Malcolm, up to his neck in the scratchy material. “Remember when Jackie and I used to hold you in bed, and you’d hold onto Jinxy for dear life? Haven’t had a cat that calm since,” Gil jokes.</p><p>“You got a cat?” Malcolm asks blearily.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“I miss her.” Jackie, the cat, days when his biggest problem was getting out of bed.</p><p>“I do too, kid. No one knew you better.”</p><p>“You do.” Malcolm squeezes Gil’s hand. “Deserve the credit.”</p><p>“For almost getting your ass killed, sure,” Gil scoffs.</p><p>Malcolm’s eyes fly open, then slam shut at the light that invades his skull. “Don’t say that,” he ekes out between whimpers. His head pounds like a concert’s been playing inside the whole night. The tambourine doesn’t go with the synth doesn’t go with the theremin doesn’t go with the oboe hissing in his ear that there’s not enough woodwinds, the violin screeching until he <em>bleeds</em>... “Fuck — what’s wrong with me?”</p><p>Fingers keep massaging the back of his neck, but they do nothing to take away the pain. “You took a several day siesta,” Gil says. “Probably the longest sleep you’ve had in your life.”</p><p>Malcolm combs through his head, but doesn’t remember much of it. Row upon row of books, consuming all of his attention... “The case?”</p><p>“Dani and JT have it. Luckily, you weren’t the next victim.”</p><p>Malcolm slips his hand out of Gil’s, both hands moving up to press into his eyes. Perhaps if they look into his skull, they can find some order to what’s going on. Put six on six and two on two until all the dominoes fall into place, connect the dots to win some game he never realized he was playing.</p><p>“Sam’s waiting to assess you — he’s one of the nurses. He can help with pain relief if you need more of it. Think you could answer a few of his questions?”</p><p>“I’m fine.”</p><p>“We’re sitting in the ICU ‘cause you’ve been in a coma. Humor me?”</p><p>The nurse’s assessment goes on for what feels like an hour, leaving Malcolm tired and ready to fall back asleep. It was probably only minutes, but his concept of time is destroyed. “Go back to sleep, Mr. Bright,” the nurse says. “You’re gonna get sick of us waking you up checking on you now.” He slides the glass door closed behind him as he leaves.</p><p>Malcolm doesn’t particularly want to sleep. The smell invading his nose reminds him it’s an environment he’s programmed to escape from. Every trip to the hospital ends the same. “I’m going home,” Malcolm announces, sliding the sheets off of him.</p><p>“Kid, I can appreciate that.” Gil crouches beside the bed where Malcolm’s feet would go. “But that IV is also full of drugs keeping you stable right now.”</p><p>“There’s a case to work on,” he argues, running a hand through his hair to push it out of his eyes. He wipes his grease-coated fingers off on the gown.</p><p>“We are more than capable of closing cases without you.” Gil winces as soon as the words come out of his mouth.</p><p>“Why’d you let me live, then?” Malcolm retorts, and Gil puts his hands on Malcolm’s shoulders so he can’t escape.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Gil says and moves one of his hands under Malcolm’s chin to force their eyes to meet. “Please don’t say that. You know you’re an important member of our team. JT and Dani are great detectives — “</p><p>“You don’t need to remind me,” Malcolm cuts him off. “I still want to go home.”</p><p>“How about we talk about it when you get moved to a regular room?”</p><p>Malcolm manages to drop his legs to the floor despite the pressure on his shoulders, opting to slither down and crawl out of the hospital if he has to. Something tugs at his middle, stopping his full escape.</p><p>“You might want to at least have the catheter out first.”</p><p>“Oh, I can — “</p><p>Gil grabs his wrist. “Bright, I swear to — “</p><p>Malcolm wrenches it away.</p><p>“What do I have to do? Tell you I’m terrified? Tell you one of these times I’m scared you’ll end up in a casket?” Gil’s agitation rolls off of him, splits the air, drills through Malcolm’s ears to his brain.</p><p>“I don’t want to be here,” Malcolm says weakly, hanging his head.</p><p>“How ‘bout a bear and lemon Jell-O?” Gil barters. “Just until you get the all clear for step down, then I’ll take you home.”</p><p>Malcolm really has no interest, but Gil’s looking at him like he might self-destruct if he makes a break for it. “I want this out.” Malcolm gestures at his middle. “And pants.”</p><p>“That, I can work with. And I can tell you all about the case.” Gil pulls a plastic bag out of the bottom of the cabinet and sets it on the bed. “I’ll get Sam.” He stops at the row of flowers along the windowsill and tosses something at the bed. “Hold that until I get back,” he says, then walks out of the room.</p><p>Malcolm looks down to a small panda that says <em>Get Well Soon</em>. He has no idea where it came from, but its fur is a soft fuzz that doesn’t have a stiff texture like sawdust bears out of the hospital gift shop. He pulls pajama pants out of the plastic bag, then finds briefs tucked into the hoodie. Slipping the hood onto the top of his head, he waits for the nurse to arrive with the unzipped sides draped over his shoulders.</p><p>The catheter gets removed without issue, but he’s left with a stern warning that all of his waste output needs to be measured into a jug or by using the call button to get a nurse’s help to walk to the slide-out toilet. Home, it is not. He has the briefs pulled on before Sam even leaves the room, the pajama pants quickly following after.</p><p>“You decent?” Gil calls from the doorway.</p><p>“Yeah,” Malcolm says, falling back against the bed. The mere act of putting clothes on wiped him out the rest of the way, his eyelids working to betray him as Gil walks to his bedside.</p><p>“How about a raincheck on the case?” Gil says, rubbing his shoulder.</p><p>“I’m a little sleepy.”</p><p>“Sleep, kid. I’ll be here. We’ll go through everything when you wake up.”</p><p>“Promise?”</p><p>“Promise.”</p><p><em>Again</em>. Is anything real? ... “Promise.”</p>
<hr/><p>“Sunshine?” is the first thing out of Malcolm’s mouth when he wakes.</p><p>“She’s fine,” his mother soothes, running her fingers across his shoulder. He shrinks away, the touch unwelcome. “Luisa’s looking after her.”</p><p>“I have pictures,” Gil says, holding his phone in front of him.</p><p>Malcolm looks at the stills, his feathered friend a small speck of yellow and green amongst the cage and surroundings, but she’s there. “Fruit and seeds? Fly time? Play time?”</p><p>“Yes.” His mother sighs and rolls her eyes. “You’d think you’re the best at taking care of something.”</p><p>“Her. For her, I am.”</p><p>“How about we give the team a call?” Gil cuts in, Malcolm spotting the obvious attempt to reduce the tension. “Jess, maybe see about some food for him?”</p><p>“I don’t need — ” Malcolm starts.</p><p>“Phone call doesn’t happen if you won’t try to eat something after.” Gil gives him the same stern look he’s gotten since he was ten — he means business.</p><p>Malcolm could tell him that negotiation makes no sense, that he’ll just not eat after, but pointing out the flaws in Gil’s logic won’t help his cause. He nods instead, and his mother disappears.</p><p>“You camera ready?”</p><p>Malcolm cocks his head to the side.</p><p>“Team wants proof of life,” Gil jokes. “They’ll FaceTime with you, if that’s okay.”</p><p>Malcolm beams, and his face warms in a blush. After a few taps, Gil’s phone gets turned around, and JT and Dani are on screen from the conference room, JT slightly off camera with his arm waving sticking in frame and Dani surrounded by papers and smiling at him.</p><p>“Hey, it’s <em>Sleeping Beauty</em>,” JT teases.</p><p>“Hey, Bright,” Dani says.</p><p>Malcolm stares for a moment, mesmerized that he’s with his friends again.</p><p>“You better still be able to talk. It’s too quiet around here.” JT’s eyes pop into frame.</p><p>Malcolm chuckles, more choked up by the experience than he expected. “You called me beautiful.”</p><p>“No, dude.” JT disappears.</p><p>“Where’s Edrisa?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know how to add her,” Gil says in the room.</p><p>Malcolm looks at him over the top of the phone. “I’ve got it.”</p><p>With a few taps, Edrisa pops up onscreen. “Bright! You’re alive!” her enthusiasm brings a much higher volume to the room. “Are you up and walking around yet? Mobility is important. How about your intake — “</p><p>“Edrisa…” Gil steps in. Malcolm gives him a look that he can let it go, but he continues anyway. “Bright would like to hear about the case.”</p><p>“Death by henbane poisoning.” Edrisa shoots straight to the point. “Or in your case, almost. You don’t need to show up on my table for me to see you, Bright.”</p><p>Gil opens his mouth, looking like he’ll interrupt again, but Malcolm shakes his head. “Poison? Typically a woman’s weapon of choice.”</p><p>“We thought so, too,” Dani says. “But the most likely female suspect has been dead a couple years.”</p><p>“A. S. Harper,” JT adds.</p><p>“The books you like.” Malcolm connects the dots and looks at Gil. “I was reading one from the shelf. Trying to learn more about Veronica.”</p><p>“Reading one got you a fast pass to the emergency room,” Gil says, his face reliving the experience as it loses all expression.</p><p>“There’s nothing like touching a physical book — that fresh book smell, the feel of paper under your fingers…”</p><p>“The pages were filled with scopolamine. Between breathing it in and contact with your face, well, we know how that ended,” Edrisa says.</p><p>Malcolm mulls over the information, piecing it together with the brief memories he has of Veronica’s house. “The plants?”</p><p>“No,” JT says. “But they did connect her to our suspect. Well, that and a whole host of emails detailing a ghostwriting scam.”</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“Part of A. S. Harper’s notoriety was due to the contributions of a few ghostwriters. Her brand was so well known, when she died, they kept her name alive.”</p><p>“Your writer’s a fraud?” Malcolm asks Gil.</p><p>“I still like the books,” Gil defends.</p><p>“Gary M. Goodman got tired of his fixed-rate contract and all of the notoriety going to a dead woman,” Dani explains.</p><p>“Also had all of his advances rejected,” JT adds.</p><p>“More like stalkerish pipe dreams,” Dani corrects. “She went into his greenhouse on the regular, and he took it upon himself to spam her with creepy love poems.”</p><p>“But he got in her house?” Malcolm frowns.</p><p>“No. Mailed her drug-laced books.”</p><p>“That’s chance. How could he even know she’d open them?”</p><p>“Their deal was last looks by paper. Passed it off as a preference, which judging by his character may have partly been true, but he found it more <em>intimate</em>. Left notes inside and everything.”</p><p>“He is obsessed. Delusional.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“So, what can I do? I can look into her books a little more from here, contribute to the profile, link why he may have done it — “</p><p>“We arrested him this morning,” JT says. “On search of his greenhouse, we found the materials to render scopolamine and a book mid-preparation. When confronted with the news he harmed an NYPD consultant, he confessed.”</p><p>“So there’s — “</p><p>“Nothing to do,” Gil says.</p><p>Malcolm’s face falls as he takes in the news. There has to be something he can contribute...</p><p>“Except receive visitors!” Edrisa grins. “I can come by after work.”</p><p>“We’re preparing handoff in case the DA wants to pursue fraud charges against the publisher. But then I’ll stop by. Might even bring this guy.” Dani pokes at JT offscreen.</p><p>“Wouldn’t miss it,” comes JT’s muffled voice.</p><p>Malcolm fumbles, lips stopping and starting a few times as he reaches for something he can do. "I could — "</p><p>"Keep your ass there and heal so you can work with us on the next case." JT's tone doesn't leave any room for argument, but Malcolm continues to reach for something in his mind.</p><p>"I can <em>see</em> the wheels turning, Bright," Gil says. "The team did a great job on this. Had to do all of that without you, without me."</p><p>"You helped a little," Dani reminds Gil.</p><p>"The team did a great job. Congratulations are in order."</p><p>Instead of figuring out how to fit himself into the equation, Malcolm realizes he needs to recognize the team for their work, their abilities. Their team may take on different shapes, different roles as they fill gaps and expand where needed, but they're always a team looking out for each other. "Nice work," he says, looking at his lap, the words unfamiliar coming off of his tongue.</p><p>"You can buy the first round of beers when you get out of there," JT tells him, his face back on screen, and Malcolm gives him a small smile.</p><p>"Hang in there, Bright. We'll be by to see you soon enough," Dani assures him.</p><p>"Go walk!" Edrisa reminds him.</p><p>"Bye, all," Malcolm says.</p><p>They end up in a limbo of who will end the call first, all staring at the screen and watching each other for an elongated pause. The frames move in slow motion, multiple outlines of his friends leaving spectral imprints in his mind. Eventually, Dani hits the end button and Malcolm's left with the app screen. He clicks the phone off and sighs.</p><p>"Cheer up, kid." Gil pats his shoulder and takes his phone back. "Things are looking up."</p><p>Things are <em>things</em>, but Malcolm can't quite verbalize that. He needs something to do that isn't sitting in a hospital bed.</p><p>"Room service," Jessica calls, entering the room with a tray full of food to feed a small army. "There's gotta be something on here you like." She sets the tray on the rolling table and adjusts it over his bed. As she starts to take the covers off of the food, Malcolm holds out a warning hand. "Mother, I've got it."</p><p>"You were nearly dead — let us pamper you a little bit."</p><p>Malcolm flinches. "Please," he pleads. "I've got it."</p><p>"Eat at least two things," she demands and backs away at Gil's insistence. She takes up the chair in the corner, and Gil leans against it.</p><p>Malcolm ignores her and cautiously peers under a lid, the smell that escapes turning his stomach. He quickly shuts it again and goes to the next, completing the same process. He's through about four when he spots what he's looking for — Jell-O. Slicing through it with a spoon, he melts it on his tongue — peach. Darn. Oh well, it's the best he's got going for now.</p><p>"That was dessert," his mother complains.</p><p>He shrugs. Counts as eating something. The portion is tiny, and after a few spoonfuls, all of the wobbly treat is gone, only the whipped cream left behind. He braves checking under the rest of the lids, finding broth and plain chicken, but he doesn't see anything that whets his appetite.</p><p>"There's a chocolate protein shake in the cup if you won't eat," his mother says. "Non-dairy."</p><p>At least he can swallow that without chewing, perhaps not taste it that much. Maybe even get her off of his case. Slipping the straw in his mouth, he gulps it down, trying to get the process over with as quickly as possible...</p><p>Perhaps too quickly. He coughs over his tray as his body attempts to expel the contents that went down the wrong pipe. When his breathing settles, he can taste the gross chalky residue from the chocolate, and eating no longer seems desirable. He scans the tray again for water, but doesn't see any.</p><p>"What do you need, kid?" Gil asks.</p><p>"Water?"</p><p>Gil reaches for the side table, pours him a cup from the pitcher, and sets it on the rolling table. "You gonna eat more?" he gestures at the tray.</p><p>"You both have some. I'm sure you haven't had a chance to eat much here."</p><p>His mother scoffs, but Gil moves the tray to the side table where they both can pick at it. Malcolm plunks a fresh straw into his water and works to clear the horrid taste from his mouth. Licking a napkin for good measure like that'll remove the coating from his tongue, he wipes his face and pushes the rolling table away. "You can go home, you know."</p><p>"And have you jump ship? I don't think so," Gil says.</p><p>Malcolm looks to his mother, and she adds, "Moral support."</p><p>He sighs and turns away, curling onto his side. The entire experience is uncomfortable, and it's extra awkward being watched on top of it.</p><p>But he's alive.</p><p>Drifting to sleep, he hopes night terrors don't follow him.</p><p><em>Again</em>. Go back to the beginning. Walking to a beach house in New York City. Shifting sand between his toes that goes on and on and on… Is anything real?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading. Head back to the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588570#workskin">Bookshelf</a> to pick another ending or head to the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26497927/chapters/64588612#workskin">Closing Video &amp; Credits</a>. :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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